Taming of the Shrew
by Malhearst
Summary: When Bill returns from cursebreaking in Egypt to a desk job at Gringotts, someone offers him the interesting deal to take out infamous ball-buster, Fleur Delacour, for money. AU, in which Gabrielle is two years Fleur's junior, not seven. Rated T for language.
**.act one.**

Gringotts was a shiny hall of marble; columns stretched towards the roof, far, far above their heads. A throng of people and creatures were shuffling their feet, walking with quick footfalls across the hardened surface, or staring up into the ceiling with ooh's and ah's falling frequently from their lips, and yet, the sounds were hushed. Slow, quiet echoes bounced off the walls and reached him like a cacophony, and Ernie Macmillan was reminded of a museum the moment he set foot indoors.

From behind him sounded a rough, "Excuse me, please," as a boulder of a man pushed his way past him, making Ernie drop the paper he was holding. He bent down with heat colouring his cheeks and ears and picked up the paper, moving away from the front entrance quickly.

Looking down at his designation, he moved insecurely towards information, where a small, angry-looking goblin, was seated on a pedestal inside a glass booth.

"Excuse me, sir-" stammered Ernie before being interrupted by a slow, condescending, "Yes?"

Ernie had a fleeting thought that the nasality of the word almost reminded him of his mother before he hurriedly buried his nose in the paper he was holding.

"Ahem, I'm supposed to- you see- ah." Silence fell between them like a guillotine, cutting him short before his time. "This is my first day."

A short finger with a long nail stretched out inside the glass as the goblin pointed down a corridor at the other end of the massive marble hall. Ernie followed it with interest until it clinked against the barrier between them. He then realised that the goblin was done giving him instructions and he turned on his heel, walking in that general direction.

Gringotts, of course, was something he had known he wanted to do for quite some time. He loved the idea of rising through the ranks in the economic centre of Wizarding Britain, working hard in a place that valued hard work. They were underestimated, goblins, and Ernie had always thought they would be interesting creatures to learn from.

He supposed that lesson number 1 would have to be succinctness. Wincing at the irony that he had just used a word like 'succinctness' to describe his own goal to be less wordy, he pushed in the door with his designation area number on and walked inside.

It was, much like he had expected, not an office to himself. Inside sat other interns like himself, some already slaving away, others talking by the water cooler (-and Ernie was surprised to find something as mundane as a water cooler in a wizarding bank office-).

Letting the shoulder strap of his leather satchel slink down his upper arm, he quickly claimed one of the desks closest to the door. Then he sat down, pushing his chair back at an angle which better allowed him to survey the room while still maintaining the illusion of disinterest. After a short while, he began twiddling his thumbs.

No one seemed to be doing much; slight chatter was heard all around, but not one person introduced themselves. Restless and lackadaisical, he started bouncing his right foot up and down; a common tic, which he had tried to rid himself of but simply couldn't. Looking out of the open door for distraction, he suddenly saw something extraordinary walk by. She was blonde, her smile was like the sun and as she disappeared out of view, Ernie sprung to his feet and ran to the corridor.

"Woah, there," someone said, placing a firm hand on his chest. Ernie was stopped in the doorway, and, annoyed, he craned his neck to look down the hallway for just another glimpse. The blonde, bobbing head had retreated to the far end of the hall, and when she turned into a room, Ernie wasn't sure which one it had been. His beauty had disappeared.

The stranger in front of him followed his gaze and said, "Gabrielle Delacour? Forget it, mate."

Ernie's gaze was drawn back towards the guy in front of him, sizing him up.

"You know her?"

"Everyone does. Don't bother, though, she's way out of your league."

The mystery boy pushed past Ernie, who, for good measure, took a last, longing look down towards the place where his newfound muse had vanished. Perhaps she had turned into a cherry tree, he thought with pleasure-Ernie liked cherry trees.

Turning around, he saw that the others were taking their seats and that the newcomer was claiming the one next to Ernie. Quickly, Ernie seated himself, whispering in an agitated tone of voice, "I can make her fall in love with me."

He grinned self-confidently at the guy next to him, who seemed unimpressed.

"Like I said, don't bother. She's a quarter Veela, mate, that's the only reason you're interested."

"Is she?" Ernie said, intrigued, looking over his shoulder as if he could catch an impossible glimpse of her through the walls. "I'm sure that there's more to her, though. That woman can not be all vanity - did you see the way she held herself? Proud and elegant, the way her hair spun golden in her sophisticated coiffure, even the way she talked-"

"Yes, I'm sure you noticed that from the other side of the hall. Listen, mate, I'm tellin' ya, not worth it. Also-" he added as an afterthought, "Coiffure? Really?"

"How would you know?" Ernie said, suddenly suspicious and wilfully ignoring the last comment.

"It's the Veela talking. You're not the first to fall for it, yeah?"

Although he understood perfectly, something inside Ernie felt the need to confront his newfound source with the past. "Huh. You tried going after her, didn't you?"

The guy simply sighed and shook his head, which Ernie wasn't entirely sure what to do with. Instead of turning away, however, the other put forth his hand in an invitation to shake hands.

"Theodore," he said as Ernie took it. He was rather handsome, Ernie thought to himself in a moment of wonder. His dark skin accentuated his hazel eyes, and there was something clean and self-confident about him.

"Ernie," he replied.

"Anyway, she's not allowed to date."

Surprise worked its way into Ernie's features. "Why not?"

"Well, see, she's got this big sister, yeah? Also quarter, also has the guys swooning over her, not really as forthcoming."

Cocking an eyebrow at that, Ernie pursed his lips and stayed silent.

"Fleur Delacour. Real ball-buster, man. Within days, half the staff had asked her out. She's… an actual ball-buster, though."

Ernie drew back in horror.

"Yeah, once. Knee up between the - ya know - in retaliation for some comment. Bit of advice there, mate: stay away from her."

Not needing to be told twice, Ernie nodded his head vigorously.

"Anyway, unless Fleur dates, Gabrielle doesn't date. Their father made this genius rule."

"What's her deal, then?" Ernie said in surprising imitation of his new friend.

"Dunno. In the beginning, she seemed to enjoy the popularity, much like your li'l Gabby there, but one day she came to work with a vengeance; took off her make-up - still beautiful, though, mind you - started barking at anyone who tried their luck with her. She's scary, mate, I'm tellin' ya."

"Huh," said Ernie, receding in his seat.

"Yeah, tough luck, man. You'll never get her to date."

For a while, Ernie sat pondering.

"We'll need someone who isn't afraid of taming her."

"What are you on abou'? Did you not hear a single word I just said? And don't ever let her overhear you say something like that."

"Like what?"

"Like 'taming her'. Blo'y 'ell, mate, it's the 21st century, you can't talk about women like that, especially not Fleur Delacour!"

A stray thought lodged itself in Ernie's head for a second: that the more agitated Theodore became, the more London he sounded. Glottal stops had done nothing for the Queen's English.

"Alright, alright," he finally managed, holding up his palm in sign on surrender, "All I meant was, we'll need someone who isn't afraid of her. Someone who doesn't draw back in horror when she brandishes her claws."

Theodore looked at him like he had given up, shaking his head mournfully.

" _Everyone_ and their aunt have tri-"

Theodore stopped, and Ernie said impatiently, "What is it?"

"Well, there may be one guy," Theodore responded thoughtfully.

"Come on, then, Theodore, spit it out!"

"First off," Theodore said, holding up a single finger, "No one calls me Theodore. It's Theo or 'Oi, mate!' Secondly, it might not work."

"Well, _Theo_ ," Ernie began, insolence pulling at the corner of his lip, "It'll never work unless you come out with it."

"Awrigh', awrigh'. There's this one guy, newly returned to Gringotts. He's pretty badass, been a cursebreaker in Egypt an' all."

Ernie made big eyes.

"Long hair, doesn't seem to care, is pretty revered by the goblins, far as I can tell."

"Perfect!" Ernie exclaimed, perhaps a little too loudly. Waving his hand at the rest of the room, he then ducked down in secrecy again.

"You are one stupid sunuva- ya know that?"

Ernie shrugged smartly, saying, "All it takes is blind luck and determination, ya know?"

Across from him, Theo gave him a mock-stinky eye, but then, he also smirked, so Ernie considered himself home free.

.ooo.

Bill was not in the mood.

All day, people had been coming to his office to congratulate him on his new job, what an upgrade, rising through the ranks, another promotion right around the corner. He should be happy.

But Bill missed Egypt; he missed the challenge of the curses, deciphering the hieroglyphs, talking to the local community about their superstitions and wives' tales. He didn't regret coming back, but he regretted having to.

Bill Weasley had his reasons.

"No, Griphook, sorry. Continue," Bill twirled his hands.

"If you are preoccupied, Master Weasley, we can continue this at another time," Griphook responded, and Bill thought he could sense a touch of resentment in his voice.

"In fact, I would like that. It's unfair and deeply insulting to you if we continue this conversation and I am not fully conscious of what we're talking about," Griphook nodded thoughtfully, and Bill was satisfied that he had appeased the goblin a little, "But first days are, as you're probably aware, confusing things."

The goblin nodded with understanding and jumped from his chair. Bill, rising, put an amical hand on the goblin's back as he walked with him to the door.

"I promise I will let you know as soon as things quiet down-" Bill waved and smiled in a moment of forced eagerness as someone in the corridor greeted him. Then, bending slightly forward in a conspiratorial manner, he said, "I'm sure you understand."

"Of course, Master Weasley," Griphook said before turning away and proceeding down the corridor towards the Entrance Hall.

Bill gave a small sigh of relief.

Walking back to his desk (-it was all scattered papers and already filthy mugs of coffee, Egyptian relics lining the window sills and used as paper weights-), Bill sat down with a huff. First day back on the job, and it already felt mind-numbing. Although Gringotts security wasn't perfect, it wasn't enough of a challenge.

Bill Weasley needed a challenge.

"Ahem."

Someone cleared their throat at the door, and Bill swivelled in his chair without straightening. Dawdling by the doorframe were two boys, one nervous and well-kempt, the other guarded with glinting eyes.

"What?" It was probably another congratulation, but Bill didn't know the boys.

"E-Excuse us, Mr. Weas- erh, sir- Bill?"

Bill rose from his seat and walked up to them.

"What. Do you want?"

The boy with the glinting eyes regarded him carefully. "Is it true?"

Bill's gaze snapped to the other, suddenly intrigued.

"Is what true?"

"The rumours."

This could turn out to be a long conversation. Crossing his arms and straightening, Bill looked down on them. "Yes."

"Aha, well, we just- we wanted to-"

"Give you a proper challenge." The dark boy in the corridor completed the sentence.

Bill popped an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

"Fleur Delacour."

"Who is that?"

"The greatest challenge you'll ever accept."

"What am I supposed to accomplish?"

The boy with the glinting eyes smiled. "Try to date her."

Bill always smiled at the juvenile scheme, but he was in a playful mood, and there was something gratifying about being feared by people who didn't know him.

"Why? What's in it for me?"

The two boys looked at each other. They clearly hadn't thought this through.

"Alright then," Bill said, placing one hand on the door as if about to close it.

"No, wait!" the nervous boy interjected, "What if- how about-"

"Yes?"

"True love?"

A loud, metallic laughter rose from Bill's throat. Then he slammed the door in their faces and returned to his desk.

Later that day, another unknown visitor peeked in.

"Bill Weasley?" The guy was wearing a sleazy smirk and a familiar tone, and Bill almost wondered for a second if they knew each other. Then the intruder plopped down on the chair in front of his desk, and Bill decided that they didn't.

"I have a proposition for you."

"Seems like everyone does. I have work to do."

"I need you to take out Fleur Delacour."

"Well, that's a sentence I thought I'd never hear," Bill said, leaning back in his chair self-satisfied.

"On a date," the visitor clarified.

"Ah." Interesting. "What's in it for me?"

"I happen to know your family is in a spot of bother on the financial side of things."

Bill's expression darkened, and he leaned forward, snarling, "Get out."

The person opposite simply smirked. "Do you still want to throw me out if it'll cost you 15 Galleons?"

Looking at him evenly, Bill countered with 25 Galleons.

"20 Galleons, final offer."

"Deal. Now get out."

"My pleasure." The guy wrote down a check for 20 Galleons, courtesy of a Roger Davies. Bill let his gaze follow him all the way out, then hurried down to Griphook to finalise the transaction.

 **.act two.**

"Ms. Delacour, the suggestion that the Bubblehead Charm is not enough is-"

"New to you, zeur," the blonde woman finished. She had her legs crossed, the only thing prim and proper about her. A blue denim shirt was hanging, unbuttoned and loose, around her shoulders, only a white t-shirt and a pair of ripped trousers underneath. She was sporting a couple of bruises-one on her knee, one on her lower arm-and a tattoo of a silver fox on the underside of her arm.

"-ridiculous," the goblin in front of her finished. "Ms. Delacour, you are a brilliant young woman, but you are abrasive and unapologetic at best. If you wish to convince me, I'll need more than your word for it."

"I 'ave been vaiting for you to say zat," Fleur said, rising gracefully from the chair. Her English had improved during the years she had spent at Gringotts, although she was still misunderstood too often to count. Now, she pulled out her wand and used it to perform the Bubblehead Charm on one of the doxies in keeping in the office. She then proceeded to drop it into a fish tank, a rather cruel and seemingly unnecessary thing to do. Across from her, the goblin gasped and looked at her with a mix of admiration and wariness, as if she was going to do the same to him if he commented on her behaviour.

Silence still intact, they watched as the doxy tried its limbs in the unfamiliar environment, trying to scrape off the bubble, and failing. It flailed, swam a little, forgot about the charm and seemed happily engaged with the wonders of its new world for a while.

The goblin Fleur had been talking to looked at her triumphantly.

"Now, Ms. Delacour-"

In response, the young woman shushed him with a finger to her lips and pointed to the creature. It had begun gasping for air inside the bubble, clawing desperately at something it couldn't reach. After a while, it went limp, and Fleur cast Levicorpus, bringing it to the table and removing the charm.

"You zee?"

"What- what was that?"

"Our exhales contain carbon dioxide and nitrogen-"

"Gobbledegook, Ms. Delacour."

"Am I speaking gibberish, Mr. Bogrod?"

"Indeed, you are."

The young woman proceeded in Gobbledegook, explaining what happened when carbon-based creatures were forced to inhale the same air they had just exhaled.

"So, what do you propose we do instead?"

"There are various possibilities, although I personally prefer Gillyweed," she responded with a slight blush.

Slow, deliberate claps fell immediately from behind the two of them, and they turned in surprise. Behind them stood a man with long, red hair in a ponytail, a slight smirk on his face.

"Fleur Delacour. Still brilliant, I see."

Fleur, recognising him at once, didn't know whether to take his words as praise or mockery, so instead she let herself meet his gaze stubbornly. She remembered him well and with a slight fondness, but she had also learned not to trust her own judgement since then.

"You sound surprised," she shot back.

"Well, you've learned from your mistakes, haven't you?" He was definitely mocking her now, bringing up old memories she'd rather forget.

"Mr. Weasley, we are in the middle of a conversation here. If you please, state your business," interrupted Bogrod irritably.

"I was looking for a solution to a problem, and I have a feeling that Ms. Delacour has just delivered it. I'd love to borrow her… expertise," he said, eyes sparkling with amusement.

"I'm afraid the rest of my day is preoccupied by people who know what they're doing."

"Is that so? And what, pray tell, do you mean by that?"

"The tomb of Sekhemket? You didn't even try to go underneath."

"The waters were infested."

"There's a spell for that."

"So there is for pretty little women who can't shut up."

"Yes, I think it's the same as is used for loudmouth bothers who don't know when to stop."

He was testing her, but for some reason, her temper didn't flare. It was as if he included rather than excluded her by joking, and she was annoyed with herself for falling for it-and yet, she was smiling. He was still leaning against the doorframe, smirking as if she'd said something funny, and she supposed she had.

"Ms. Delacour, I could really use your help." His words were almost submissive, but nothing in his tone or demeanour suggested that he was.

"I'm sorry, you'll have to schedule an appointment," she answered before turning around, a slightly coquettish spring to her step.

.ooo.

Only a few days later, Fleur was sitting in the cafeteria by herself. In front of her sat a heavy burger, made from Newts. It was a Gringotts speciality, and though she had refused it at first, she now enjoyed it every Wednesday. A fitting kind of food for a mid-of-the-week banking lunch.

She had only taken a few bites when a familiar voice called to her attention.

"Is this seat taken?"

Looking up, she saw Bill Weasley, one hand on the back of the chair opposite. She was still eating, making no effort to hide the fact that she had bitten off more than she could chew.

"Yes, my my an'isoc'al imadinary f'iend," she pronounced without delicacy as she slid down in her seat, placed one foot on the chair, and kicked it away from the table.

Anticipating his departure, Fleur was surprised to see him catch it in its flight, turn it around and sit down.

"How kind of them to offer their chair to me, then," he said with a smirk. Humming a little, he then continued, "You seem different from when we last met."

"Is it my eading like a peeg?" Fleur asked innocently.

"No, I think it's your eyes," Bill countered immediately, a look of mischief crinkling in his eye, "They have this- flair every time you try to put down a man."

Fleur, in response rolled her eyes.

"Well, Delacour. I think we've been beating around the bush for long enough. Go on a date with me."

A loud, warm laughter rose from the table, making everyone's heads turn towards the two of them in surprise and curiosity. Most of them, however, lost interest as soon as they saw who was involved.

"I would ra'zer do ze secong challenge again," she responded, rising from her seat with the tray in hand. "Now, if you'll excuse me…"

.ooo.

That was not the last she saw of Bill Weasley, however. He accosted her once or twice in the hallways, sometimes following her out with his hands in his pockets and a laid-back reaction to her humorous rejections. He would spell things with ridiculous objects like peas or floating marbles, only to have them tumble to the ground when someone else was looking. Fleur hid her smiles, although one or two might have slipped through.

It was not a question of disliking Bill Weasley. Truth be told, her seventeen-year-old self had quickly found him attractive at the Tournament, something mature and slightly dangerous about him. It was the same year she'd learned that being quarter Veela could make anyone dote on you - except for goblins.

She mistrusted Bill's interest as being merely a side effect of her magical heritage as much as she mistrusted her teenage self's romantic judgements.

Besides, she had promised herself never to do anything unless she wanted to herself, ever again, and Fleur wasn't sure what she wanted.

So instead, she waited.

.ooo.

"Look, it's not working, alright? She's not interested." Bill was sitting in his chair, trying to keep his voice level.

"I paid you 20 Galleons!"

"That was an advance."

"What?!" Roger Davies deteriorated in front of him, froth around his mouth. "Look, you- Alright."

Smoothing back his hair, Roger sat back in his own chair opposite. "20 more upon completion."

"I told you, the lady isn't playing. What do you want me to do, force her?"

"Yes!" Roger exclaimed as if it were a brilliant plan, "If that is what it takes!"

"No."

"Listen, I'll just leave another check right here on your desk," the guy leaned forward, smoothing out a note against the polished surface, "and then you take care of things, OK?"

Bill remained silent, thinking he had no qualms taking this fool's money if he was so intent on throwing them away. If Roger Davies was deaf to his 'No's, Bill wasn't going to squander them. As his visitor exited, Bill reached forward before hearing a knock on the door.

"Come in!" he called, tucking the check in his lower drawer.

Then, looking up, he broke into a smile.

"Well, well, well."

"Hi," said the squirming youngster from his first day. He was standing still now, hardly stammering as he spoke the one-syllable word.

"We know how to help you," said the other.

"I'll need some identification here," Bill said authoritatively. Amusement tugged at the corner of his lip as the pale one started to fumble for ID of some sort. His companion gave him a sharp elbow nudge.

"He means our names."

"Oh, OK, alright, erhm- I'm Ernie Macmillan."

"And I'm Theo."

"Alright," said Bill with a sharp inhale, leaning forward, "And what exactly do you two think you're able to help me with?"

"Your- lady," Ernie said, "Fleur Delacour?"

"What about her?"

"Well-" Ernie started again, but Theo cut him off: "We've talked to her sister."

"Ah, Gabrielle. Yes, I've seen her around."

"You know her?" asked Theo incredulously, which made Bill smile.

"I know of her." It was a long story, and he didn't want to start namedropping Harry Potter in front of these two.

"Well, Ernie has begun tutoring Gabrielle in English."

"This guy?" Bill asked, pointing at Ernie with his thumb, "He hardly speaks English himself."

Theo laughed heartily at that, seemingly making Ernie more at ease too.

"Well, she gave us some pointers to her sister's heart."

"Is that so?" Seeing Ernie pull out a piece of paper from his pocket, Bill quickly snatched it from him as he rose from the chair, giving the younger boy a brief glance before paying attention to the list.

"Competitive streak, no way. Pink- well, that seems outdated, doesn't it? The Wicked Witch?" Bill looked up. "Are we talking about the character or the singer?"

Theo, throwing Ernie a look, said, "The singer."

Ernie nodded his head vigorously.

"Alright then. Thanks boys." Holding out his left arm, indicating the door and shooing him out with his right.

"W-wait." The pale boy clawed at the door. "If you know Gabby, could you drop her a few nice words about me?"

"And why would I do that?" asked Bill artfully, "I'm sure you're more than capable of endearing yourself to her with your words."

"But-"

"Bye!"

.ooo.

The annual Gringotts Egg Hunt arrived only days later. It was a muggle tradition, in which muggleborns delighted and goblins described as their way of kindling a bond between two underappreciated social groups of British Wizarding Society (-Fleur had never heard them describe themselves as a different race or species, something she quite admired about the goblins-).

Several employees took a seat back when it came around; Fleur had overheard a discussion, in which the Egg Hunt was being described as 'childish' in hushed voices. Others didn't feel that the bond between goblins and muggles concerned them, a stance either taken with pride and arrogance or humility and reverence; there was no in-between.

Fleur, however, loved it. Gabrielle didn't participate, but Fleur had seen her smile when Fleur had won the year prior.

"Ahem," one of the goblins cleared his throat in a dignified attempt at winning the crowd's attention. He was standing on a small dais, his voice amplified.

Fleur couldn't help but, in a weak moment, let her eyes seek out and linger on Bill Weasley. He was standing, not far off, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. Beside him stood two much younger boys, one of them whispering things in his ear and the other- looking at her. One second, and so was Bill.

Fleur looked away.

"The annual egg hunt," croaked the official, "is our time to remember our differences."

A slight murmur broke out between the employees, especially amongst new groupings, and Fleur smiled.

"You each have half an hour to search high and low, in offices and halls below, for eggs we've painted. The hunt begins… now."

Ever succinct, Fleur thanked the goblins silently for a speedy expedition and ducked out of view quickly. She had learned in her first year to never go searching for eggs in the tunnels below. Magic be damned, it was too easy to get lost and not enough eggs to merit the venture.

Stalking down the hallway, a crowd coming the same way, she hurried into an office on her left, hoping to be free of the other hunters. Spotting a few eggs (-one on a top shelf, another floating behind a sofa group, a third in between a couple of book stacks-) she picked them up and threw them in her fabric bag. Some of the information received before the hunt detailed important knowledge, such as the fact that the eggs were unbreakable, and that magic was forbidden during the hunt.

Fleur, satisfied that she had found all there was to find in the office, only just managed to get a hold of the doorknob when it turned and she was pushed back.

" _Attention_!" she exclaimed, almost falling back into the desk. Entering, of course, was none other than Bill Weasley.

"Ms. Delacour?" he said, surprise melting into a pleased expression.

"Monsieur Weasley."

"Have you already cleared out my office?"

"Aha," said Fleur triumphantly.

"And I who thought you'd want to schedule with my secretary first," he teased.

Fleur shrugged. "All iz fair…"

"Ah. And which one is this, love or war?" He smiled.

"War, Monsieur Weasley." Fleur smirked. "And I am winning."

With that, she grabbed the doorknob again, ready to exit.

"We could make it interesting."

Turning around, she looked at him as he sat, legs and arms crossed, leaning casually up against the desk.

"What do you propose?"

"If I find more eggs than you, you'll go on a date with me."

The answer fell immediately. "No."

"Not even if I-" At this, he rummaged through a couple of drawers to fish out a couple of tickets. "-have tickets to The Wicked Witch."

Her temper flared.

"Bill Weasley, if I wanted to go on a date wiz you, you wouldn't need to bribe or trick me into it!"

"I'm not."

Something in his voice soothed her, and she settled down.

"Zen what, exactly, do you call zis?"

"Trying to show you that I'm not just interested in you for your looks. Trying to earn myself a chance."

Her eyebrows furrowed.

"Do you remember we had a talk? Two years ago?"

Fleur did remember. She had been a shivering thing, humiliated and upset after the third task, and Bill had taken her for a cup of chocolate.

"You mentioned your fear that you would always doubt whether boys only fell for the Veela in you. You mentioned," at this, he shook the tickets, "The Wicked Witch."

She stared.

"You mentioned a lot of things that I haven't forgotten since."

 **.act three.**

"Delacour!"

It was raining, and Fleur was hurrying up the steps to Gringotts, a spring jacket held above her head. Looking back, she saw Bill pointing a wand at her and doing a small pattern in the air.

"Impervius!"

A moment later, he was by her side, an arm around her waist as they both continued running from a rain that could no longer touch them. As they reached the canopy of the columns, they both fell back against the marble, laughing and short of breath.

"It iz ridiculous zat I'm a witch who still forgets Impervius."

"That _is_ ridiculous," Bill said good-naturedly beside her.

"You're ridiculous," she countered.

"True."

They walked inside the halls, striding down the corridor on their left, when suddenly, Fleur stopped dead in her tracks. Not far off stood Gabrielle and Roger Davies.

"Oh no, you don't," Fleur began, starting to trudge her way down towards them, but Bill caught the nook of her elbow and dragged her inside his office.

"What are you doing?" she asked angrily, ripping her arm from his grip.

"If you're going to confront Gabrielle with what a bastard Roger Davies is, I thought you might like some more ammunition."

"Oh?" Fleur said, wrinkling her nose in curiosity.

Bill circled around his desk and squatted in front of the lower right drawer. Here, he dragged out a piece of paper, which he handed to Fleur.

"What's this?"

"Fleur, there's something you should know. I didn't want to take this promotion."

"Why not?"

"Because I loved cursebreaking. But I had to come back. For my family. They need me."

She looked at him with a mix of sadness and admiration. Her hand stretched out to catch on his stubble.

"That," he inclined his head towards the check, "was for my family. Davies gave it to me as payment."

"For what?"

"For taking you out."

.ooo.

"Why 'aven't you told me this before?"

"Because I was 'umiliated, Gabrielle. Because I didn't want you to think I wasn't going to let you make your own decizions."

"What about Bill?"

"I don't know."

.ooo.

It was the office almost at the end of the hall, she remembered. Two door down from the Entrance Hall. The pretty patterns of marble beneath her feet clicked and echoed against her heels. Her eyes skidded across nametags on the way down, just to make sure she wasn't walking past it.

Gabrielle Delacour was a girl with a mission.

A mission that was about to be interrupted.

"Gabby!"

Without stopping, Gabrielle called, "Not now, Ernie."

"Hey!"

Someone grabbed her arm, and she looked at him furiously.

"C-can we talk?"

Gabrielle sighed, then said, "D'accord," allowing him to lead her into an abandoned room.

"Look, Gabby-"

"Zat's not my name."

"Gabrielle," he adjusted, somewhat angrily. "I don't think I deserve to be spoken to like that. I'm just trying to be friendly."

"Oh, zen wat _do_ you dezerve?"

In front of her, a mix of anticipation and trepidation played itself out on Ernie Macmillan's face.

"Well, I mean- I've liked you from the start, I defended you when my friends called you vain, I tutored you, and then you go out with Roger Davies instead of me and stop speaking to me!"

"Zen tell me, wat do you deserve?"

"I was nice to you, and he- he's such a-"

"And being nice to be, zat's zomezing you can cash in, in return for wat? Adoration? Admiration? Affeczion?"

"No! I'm just saying! I was the one who made sure that Fleur dated so that you could date."

"Oh? As far as I've 'eard, that was Roger, _paying_ Bill!"

"Yeah, because we pitched the idea to him," countered Ernie, looking slightly proud of himself.

"I zee."

A pause.

"So?" he asked, full of hope.

"You are an idiot! Do you zeriously zink that becauze you zink you did me favours, I wuld go out wiz you? Zat I'm just a doll for you to decide how to act? That being nice iz only zomezing you do if zere iz a return? You are no better zan Roger, and _zat_ iz wy I'm not speaking to you!"

At that, Gabrielle turned on her heel and stormed down the corridor quickly, hurrying to avoid any more delays from Ernie Macmillan.

Opening the door to her destination quickly and angrily, she almost crashed it against the wall. Slamming it behind her, she took a few steps forward before realising that he was looking at her weirdly.

Gabrielle blushed. "I'm- zorry."

"The younger Delacour. Here to teach me a lesson too?"

"You 'eard zat?!"

Bill leaned back, smirking and braiding his fingers in front of him. Then he nodded a single time.

Gabrielle plopped down on the chair opposite, mortified. Then, after a few moments of silence, she straightened in her seat, saying, "Well, 'e dezerved it."

"I'm sure he did," Bill said, beaming. "So, what do I deserve?"

Gabrielle regarded him for a second.

"To know zat she mizzes you."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** This may have been a hurried version of 10 Things I Hate About You, but I wanted only to set the scene and then get to the good part. I'm not good with too much fluff, but I'd like to know how you found the pacing, and if it was too hurried.

Written for NeonDomino's Rom-Com Competition and Sable Supernova's Months of the Year Competition.


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